


bitter-sweet upon a broken wall

by witching



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Drabble, Friends to Lovers to Something Else, Guilt, Hopeful Ending, Lack of Communication, M/M, No Dialogue, Pining, Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, The Unknowing (The Magnus Archives), Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24094810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: "They are going to save the world, but Jon still feels empty inside, because he cannot change Tim's mind and he cannot save him and he cannot apologize and he cannot sleep, not with Tim lying so close to him. So very close, but it feels like an ocean between them, and still Tim would rather drown than love him, even here at the end."
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 69





	bitter-sweet upon a broken wall

**Author's Note:**

> about half of this fic happened in a 3am fever while i was pulling my second all-nighter in a row and procrastinating my final paper a few weeks ago. i wrote it in a twitter thread and then i transferred it to a [text post](https://martindykewood.tumblr.com/post/613938040847679488/it-would-be-hard-enough-to-fall-asleep-just-from). the rest of it happened this afternoon bc i needed a break from p*rn so i changed it from second to third person and wrote an ending that made me happy :-)

_loving you less than life, a little less_  
_than bitter-sweet upon a broken wall_  
_or brush-wood smoke in autumn, i confess_  
_i cannot swear i love you not at all_

_// edna st. vincent millay_

* * *

It would be hard enough to fall asleep just from his presence in the bed. Tim's body is like a furnace, always has been, and he takes up space, not to mention that just to look at him is painful. But more than that, it is that Jon is full of regret for a thousand different tiny decisions he never made, a thousand different turns in his path that led him here, and he cannot look at Tim without thinking  _ this is all my fault, all my fault, all my fault, _ and he knows Tim would agree, even if it is his very last chance to forgive Jon. 

They are going to save the  _ world, _ but Jon still feels empty inside, because he cannot change Tim's mind and he cannot save him and he cannot apologize and he cannot sleep, not with Tim lying so close to him. So very close, but it feels like an ocean between them, and still Tim would rather drown than love him, even here at the end. 

It hurts and it is hard because Jon is  _ selfish,  _ and he would say it all now because he cannot let Tim die without knowing, but Tim would never allow it if he tried. Because it would be only for his benefit, really, Tim does not want or need it, what is he going to do with it? Go to his grave knowing that things could have been different? 

Things are not different, they are what they are. It is only Jon and Tim and a kitschy single bed and a universe of unspoken feelings and unfeeling words. It is only Jon and Tim, and Tim is going to die, and Jon might not, but he is not sure if it is better to keep going without Tim, keep living with himself. 

So maybe he tells Tim when he is asleep. Or when he thinks he is asleep. Or when he knows Tim is awake but he can pretend with a certain degree of plausibility that he thinks Tim is asleep. He just needs to say it, he tells himself, but that is not true at all, because he needs Tim to hear it more than anything. And he will. 

Of course he will, because even if Jon does not get the words out of his mouth, those words are always filling the air around them all the time, permeating the membrane of Jon's shame and Tim's anger, making themselves known as they both try so hard to keep them inside. Even if he does not hear the words with his ears, Tim knows and he understands and he cannot ever not hear Jon's voice. He cannot ever forget.

And maybe that knowledge can save him. Jon tries so hard not to let himself hope, but he knows how big his love is, and part of him thinks:  _ No matter what I come to doubt or question, this will always be true, and it will always be a part of me, and I will always know it. And so will he. _

So when it comes to it, he can hold onto that, grip their love tight in his fists and let it tether him to who they are and let it tether him to Tim. And no matter what confusions they thrust upon him, they cannot take that away from him, they cannot make a dent in a force that strong. 

He thinks maybe there is a chance, maybe he can use that and he can get out and he can – just this once – save everyone. And maybe when they get back home, maybe then Tim will listen, maybe then he will let Jon grovel for his forgiveness and Jon can tell him all the things he never got to say. All the things he never  _ chose _ to say. All the things he has always been too afraid to say.

Maybe Tim will have mercy on him, maybe Tim will love him too, maybe they can help each other wade through the dangers and make the right decisions. Maybe one day they can get all the way out, get away for good, go kayaking, anything at all to feel and live like normal people do. 

Or. Or maybe Jon chooses to toss all that, stare at the back of Tim's head until the sun comes up, lose him the way he knows he is meant to, mourn him the way he knows he is meant to. That is what Tim wants. But it would be so  _ wrong _ not to let him know, at least, that they have a chance. Jon has to give him the choice. 

Tim does not want to be saddled with this choice any more than he wants to be saddled with the inevitability of his death, but he will take it. He would take vengeance over life in a heartbeat, but if he can get both, he will do it. Jon should tell him. Jon should tell him. He deserves to know that Jon could save him, if Tim would only let him. He deserves that. 

(But what if he has it all wrong? What if it could never work? What if the doubt is stronger after all; Jon overestimated himself; he overestimated how much Tim cares for him; he hung his hopes on a flight of fancy in the middle of the night and he ignored reason and inevitability because he is terrified,  _ terrified  _ and selfish and he does not want to lose his friend, but that means nothing now.) 

He wants to beg, more than anything. He wants to shake Tim awake and beg him to stay alive. Beg Tim to let him go down instead, to let him be the martyr instead, because Tim deserves to  _ live. _ Beg him to just try, please just  _ try, _ fall to his knees and beg Tim not to give up. Beg Tim to kiss him. That part is pathetic, but he cannot bring himself to feel embarrassed for it – how could he care about that right now? 

This is what happens, after all that: Jon leans in as close as he can and breathes him in, memorizes him, catalogues him. Jon whispers a plea that Tim does not hear. He sheds tears that Tim does not see. He does not fall asleep and he does not look away from the back of Tim's head, not until Tim gets up and the back if his head is no longer there. 

And then they go to save the world. 

And Jon is the Archivist, he is the Knower, isn't he? Shouldn't he see how it will all go down? Shouldn't he do something to change it? Shouldn't he shouldn't he shouldn't he shouldn't he know where he is? Shouldn't he know  _ who _ he is, and  _ what _ he is, and what he is looking at? 

He does not know anything. 

He does not know, but he  _ sees. _ He sees Tim, and he does not know, but he  _ feels  _ that this is true, that Tim is real. 

Jon finds a string inside himself and reaches for it, unsure whether it is the loose thread on a sweater or the pull chain on a floor lamp or something in between, but viscerally aware that it  _ must  _ be a risk worth taking. Whether he falls apart entirely or opens some kind of door or sheds a bit of light on truth, ignoring that string is not an option.

So he pulls, and still he cannot tell what the effect is, even as it is happening. This is what he feels in his heart is true: if he is, in fact, pulling a thread and unraveling a knitted garment, it is only to reveal the naked fact of his very human ability to care for another human being. If he is, in fact, pulling a chain and turning on a lightbulb, it is only to illuminate the knowledge that he needs to anchor him to what is real. If he is, in fact, pulling a cord and opening a door, it is only to enter an adjacent plane where time and space might make more sense.

One thing makes sense, here and now, and that is Tim. Jon stumbles and fumbles through a kaleidoscope of sensory data that does not match up with any known reality, pushes through it until he touches the warm wall of Tim’s chest – he would recognize it anywhere. 

It is broad and sturdy and solid and real, so real, unbearably real. It is the only thing that has ever been real. Jon can feel it now in his bones, but he can also feel it in the past, and he can also feel it in the future. He remembers, and he hopes, and he  _ knows. _

He remembers late nights in years past, scooped up in Tim’s arms without a trace of difficulty, head lolling on Tim’s shoulder as he stubbornly tries to pretend he is not tired. He remembers crawling half-dead into Tim’s bed, collapsing against him with an earth-shattering sigh, falling asleep with the steady rhythm of Tim’s heartbeat thrumming through his head.

He remembers clutching the front of Tim’s shirt tight in his fists and pulling him down into a desperate, frantic kiss, and another, and another. He remembers the way his knuckles grazed Tim’s chest through the thin fabric as his tongue dipped into Tim’s mouth, slow and sweet like honey.

He hopes hard for the possibility that they can do that again. He hopes beyond hope that they survive this, that they can go home and do all of the things he wishes they had done before. He hopes that Tim will want those things, as well.

He hopes Tim will still be there, dependable and constant as his muscled chest, soft and yielding as his cotton shirt, a well-loved blue crewneck, one that Jon has worn on occasion. Usually just around Tim’s flat, but once when he accidentally fell asleep there and they had to go to work the next day and Jon decided it was less shameful to wear Tim’s clothes than to wear the same outfit he had worn the previous day. 

He hopes he will get the chance to wear it again. 

He knows in this moment that Tim is here, and that he loves Tim, and that Tim loves him just as much. He knows this with the selfish, teleological certainty of a tiny, petty human being who lives in a universe with thousands of years of history, millions of years of prehistory, billions of years of cosmic existence, trillions of years of potentiality, and still somehow accomplishes the feat of believing that all of those haphazard, impossible factors came together for the sole purpose of bringing them to this moment in particular.

He knows, as he places his palms flat against Tim’s chest, that they will get out of this alive. He knows, as Tim’s long, strong fingers wrap around his wrists, that they will succeed and they will return home and they will finally have the chance to make things right. He knows, as Tim describes what he can see, as Tim throws him over his shoulder and runs, as Tim presses the button on the detonator, as the world snaps back to rights like a rubber band, that he will try his damnedest to make _them_ right as well, and that Tim may just let him.

There is a lot to overcome, and Jon is tired, but he will try.


End file.
